


tip of my tongue

by Soqquadro



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 'cause this fandom needs more lesbians, Character's Name Spelled as Viktoriya for the sake of authenticity, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/F, Face-Sitting, Genderswap, Oral Sex, Rule 63, Still, also this was meant as a b-day present for Vitya, but i'm late as usual, implied vaginal fingering, is that even a thing, specifically happy lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 04:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13206093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soqquadro/pseuds/Soqquadro
Summary: «Vika?»«Mh?»«Vika.»«Mmh?»«What do you want for your birthday?»«You сидишь на my face.»«What?»«Don't know the thing. Verb. Like on a chair.»«To sit?»«Да, that. Sit. On my face. Now sleep, 's so late.»Viktoriya's birthday is in two weeks, and Yuuri has absolutely no idea what to get her. Luckily, she's not as hard to please as one would think.





	tip of my tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everybody!  
> I have not much to say, really. This is my first time sharing my work in this fandom, and Yuri!!! on Ice is a show I'm very attached to, so I'm a bit nervous, but I thought it was time, after over an year of cowering, to show my face. Metaphorically.  
> And here I am, even if smut is not exactly my strong suit but. Not the point.  
> Thanks in advance to everyone who'll read this little thing :)

Yuuri knows, by now, that life with Viktoriya Nikiforova is not the perfect, problems-free experience she dreamt of in her lonely teenage years.

(It's more like the complete opposite of that, actually. If she had to compare it to something, a train wreck would be the closest thing).

Vika kicks her in her sleep. She hogs all the blankets on the bed and at the ripe old age of _twenty-eight_ she is _not_ able to work her own washing machine to save her life. She forgets to eat and she trains too hard and she wakes up definitely too early for Yuuri's taste. She never remembers to buy tampons or shampoo or milk or anything that's not dog toys they have no need for.

Vika also brings her coffee every morning so she can stay in bed a little more, though. She warms up the bathroom beforehand when Yuuri wants to take a shower and she usually sleeps wrapped around her like a very tall, very Russian octopus. She braids Yuuri's hair for practice, now that it's longer, and she cuddles her even _more_ on nights when her cramps won't let her sleep.

It works for them, and that is all that matters, in the end, frustrating days and weird situations included.

Up until now, about nine months into living together in Saint Petersburg, they have had at least five emergency video calls with Chris in the middle of the night (where _emergency_ usually means pretending to be her pissed off, on-a-work-trip girlfriends to scare some douchebag out of her house the morning after the hookup), one surprise visit from Phi for Yuuri's birthday, and Yura coming over for the night countless times, bringing along shouting matches and her cat and blonde strands of hair in the guests' bathroom.

So, somehow unsurprisingly, when Yuuri wakes up at three am two weeks before Viktoriya's birthday with no idea of what to get her, her answer is not the weirdest thing that has ever been said at three am in their flat.

(«Vika?»

«Mh?»

« _Vika_.»

«Mmh?»

«What do you want for your birthday?»

«You сидишь на my face.»

«What?»

«Don't know the thing. Verb. Like on a chair.»

«To sit?»

«Да, that. Sit. On my face. Now sleep, 's so late.»)

 

 

Yuuri doesn't think she is _physically_ able to talk about it in the sunlight, so she never brings it up again. To Vika, at least.

(Phi all but _squeaks_ when she tries to ask for help. Or advice. Or anything useful she has to know to avoid suffocating her fiancée to death _if_ she ends up going with that).

It turns out that Phi is not at all useful, as she spends half of the phone call giggling and the other half telling her the only thing she already knew, namely that she has to be careful about her thighs.

Like that's not the main problem Yuuri was worried about in the first place.

The Internet is a tiny bit more helpful, giving out some practical tips on How Not To Kill Your Future Wife – it also gives out quite the detailed praise about it all and. Well. It's not like Yuuri isn't _curious_.

(She is).

She's also very aware of the fact that she's not exactly a small weight to take on even during the season, when she's at her fittest, and she is not sure how much control she'll have on her body in the moment.

(She is _also_ very much self-conscious about _everything_ regarding the whole concept, because it is clearly meant for people who aren't her. Bolder and confident and, well, just not _Yuuri_ ).

So she's curious. But she's mostly worried. Because even if Vika tries to cheat on their chore chart on a daily basis she doesn't deserve to die smothered by a vagina. Probably.

(She ends up buying her a nice perfume they saw together on a rare shopping day, too.

Just in case).

 

 

Yuuri manages to coax Yakov into giving them the day off on Viktoriya's birthday, even if this year it's on a Monday and their day off is _not_ Monday.

She pleads and stretches out the most convincing argument she has – the Grand Prix is over and they have months before the next big competition and _yes she knows Viktoriya needs to train but she also needs rest, she does_ – and it _might_ be the obvious desperation in her eyes that moves what is left of Yakov's soul. Whatever it is, though, it works.

She has a plan, too.

(The plan is to wake up lazily, bathed in the weak sunlight of the cold Saint Petersburg morning and then kiss her until noon and then _maybe_ get up to make lunch, kiss some more after lunch and give Vika all her presents possibly before Tuesday).

(Of course, the plan is completely ruined before it can even _start_ ).

Yuuri can't _wake up lazily_ because she doesn't even sleep, that night. She spends a hell of a lot of time turning and tossing around, until she gets up to take a shower and shave at two am because _why not_. She makes tea and she takes another two showers along the course of the following six hours, because anxiety is making her stomach churn.

(To shut it up, Yuuri repeats the Russian emergency numbers again and again and again _just in case_ , and she takes Makkachin for a walk when the voices inside her head become too much).

She crawls into bed again only at eight am, with an offer of coffee and a kiss, to find Vika already awake. She looks at Yuuri with wide blue eyes, and her face is the confused face of someone who has slept more than they should have. Her hair is all plastered on the side of her head, curling a bit at the ends, near her ribs.

(She doesn't even have a bedhead. _Yuuri_ has a bedhead and she didn't _sleep_ ).

She's _beautiful_ , and Yuuri wanted to say something but now she can only stutter and blush like it's the first time she sees her.

(Someday, Yuuri will get over the fact her fiancée is the most ravishing human being she has ever laid her eyes on, but today is not that day.

Sometimes, it makes her doubt. Most times, it only makes her knees go weak, words trapped in her mouth and some unknown, huge emotion blocking her throat).

«Good morning.» she manages, almost tumbling over to kiss her, feeling her muffled laugh against her own lips. «And happy birthday!» she goes on, moving back enough to give her the cup and drop the little perfume shop bag in her lap.

Vika coos and kisses her again, soft and sleep warm in her arms, and she insists on wearing it before even getting out of bed. Not that they're going to do much of that today.

Viktoriya seems perfectly happy with it, burying her face in the crook of Yuuri's neck, her breath tickling her and her hands slipping under Yuuri's shirt, her fingers light and hot on her skin.

«Let me thank you properly, ми́лая.» she almost purrs, stroking Yuuri's hip with the kind of languid comfort that makes her legs buckle.

But Yuuri has a plan. _Had_ a plan. At some point there was one, anyway, and she needs to stick to what's left of it or she'll never make it out alive, which is already going to be difficult enough as it is.

So she wiggles out of Viktoriya's hold, straddling her hips, gentle but firm while she takes Vika's wrists to keep her still.

Vika chuckles, her voice a little raspy from sleep, and her nose scrunches up when she grins, mischievous.

« _Yuu-ri_ , what a naughty girl.» she whispers, slurring her name, half laughing and half heated. Her accent is more pronounced in the early morning, her r heavy on her tongue.

Yuuri pretends not to shiver at her words, hiding the reaction behind a shrug ( _don't blush don't blush or she'll know you're bluffing_ ), and she grins back in kind.

It feels strained, at the beginning. Then she hears Vika's breath catch in her throat.

(It's not the first time she does that, but it's always a nice, needed reminder of the power Yuuri has over her, in certain situations).

The next time she smiles, Yuuri cocks her head, biting on her lower lip and trying to be as seducing as possible.

(Also trying to ignore the little voice in her head that's telling her to quit it, because she is _not_ in the Eros outfit and this is _failing_ ).

Vika just looks up at her, suddenly silent. When she swallows, her eyes wide and her lips tight, Yuuri laughs.

 

She starts slowly, going over known territory. She lets go of Viktoriya's wrists, stroking down her bare arms.

(Vika sleeps half naked, which is sometimes baffling and sometimes incredibly useful. Yuuri has no idea how she manages to never catch a cold, walking around the flat in a flimsy t-shirt and panties, but she's not about to complain).

She keeps going, tickling her ribs above the shirt, playfully pinching her waist. She listens to every quiet noise.

Under her fingertips, Yuuri can feel her goose bumps, the smooth curve of her breasts, the raising and dipping of her hipbones and the fine hairs on her stomach.

(She used to imagine her skin as a flawless white canvas, because Vika didn't seem human enough to share the same problems as anyone else.

But she has tons of moles scattered around her arms and chest and legs, and scarred, constantly cold feet. She has bruises on her thighs from a bad day at the rink. On her body there are hairy spots she missed while shaving, and razor nicks on her ankles and behind her knees.

Little things, known to any woman out there. Yuuri treasures every one of it).

When Yuuri looks at her face, Viktoriya has her eyes closed, neck arched in invitation. Her hair is spread on the pillow, glinting like mercury and catching every pale hint of sunshine that comes in from the window.

She smirks to herself, shuffling lower down her legs, until she's laying between them, her hands resting on Vika's thighs.

She waits until her fiancée's regular breathing starts to hitch, eager. Vika frowns, opening her mouth to call her name or to plead or to command (she never knows what it'll be, because Vika never lets her settle down).

Only then Yuuri presses down right where she can already see a little wet spot on her underwear. She's gentle, but Viktoriya gasps all the same, taken by surprise. Her hands scramble for something to hold on to, and she ends up gripping Yuuri's fingers, the ring pressing so hard into her flesh it almost hurts.

She stays like that for a while, circling her centre with idle brushes of her fingertips. It's not even _pressure_ , too light to be anything but teasing, and she can tell Viktoriya is _not_ happy about it.

(She goes _wild_ under her touch, her hips rising against the friction, angry murmurs in Russian leaving her lips, broken by petulant whining when once again she doesn't get what she wants).

Yuuri can tell Vika expects her to keep working with the added sensation of the fabric against her, but she grows bored of it rather quickly.

Viktoriya's panting a little, by now, her eyes still closed, and she's so wet Yuuri can do as much as smell her from where she is.

She's not far enough to be surprised but it's still kind of flattering. Even after several months of sharing a bed. During those several months, she also learned that having Vika come undone is simpler than one would expect.

(Yuuri is not the bragging type, but if there's a thing she would – and will – brag about until her dying day, at least when drunk, is the way Viktoriya looked – sweaty and messy and flushed, sleeping in her bed – after she figured that out).

So, instead of keeping at it with only her fingers, she lowers her head, moving the fabric apart enough for her mouth to fit. Vika doesn't scream, but she jolts all the same, a sharp intake of breath, so loud that it fills the whole room for a moment. Her knees close around Yuuri's head, and she loosens her grip to move her own hand to Yuuri's hair, pulling lightly, but firmly enough that she gets the message across.

If she wasn't focused on the task at hand, Yuuri would roll her eyes.

(She is _very much_ focused, though, so she only spells out _so bossy, really_ with her tongue, as a personal revenge).

 

 

It's only after – when they have received their usual fair share of scolding from Makka for having kept him out of the room and they are cuddled up under a set of clean sheets, remains of breakfast waiting to be cleaned up on Yuuri's bedside table – that Yuuri brings it up again.

(She thought about not doing that, but then she remembered the sleepy certainty that coated Vika's voice when she told her, and her own curiosity. They did weirder things anyway, things that worked out and other things that didn't quite work out and _other_ things that are never to be mentioned again. Like The Whipped Cream Accident.

Yuuri _really_ hopes this is not going to be another Whipped Cream Accident).

She starts fidgeting the moment she begins to rehearse the conversation in her head. Moreover, she is enough of a fool to think Viktoriya wouldn't notice something is off.

The end result makes useless her whole rehearsing, as everything Viktoriya ever does.

«What is it, золоце mоё ?» she asks. Yuuri can feel the words rumbling in her chest and the worry in her tone, in the way she strokes her bare stomach with a little more force. She even tries to catch Yuuri's gaze, but that's _not_ going to happen.

In fact, she thanks all the gods, be they real or not, that she didn't think about wearing her glasses for this. She could never do it if she could actually _see_ Viktoriya's reaction.

«Do you remember our conversation the other night?» she whispers, so low she almost hopes Vika didn't manage to hear, when she doesn't react immediately. Except then she _does_ , she gives out a breathless _Блядь_ that can only mean one thing and then she's all over Yuuri, kissing her neck and hugging her so tight she can barely breathe.

« _Yuuri_! Did you think about it? _Please_ tell me that you thought about it.» she sounds genuinely excited about it and who is Yuuri to deny her something? She never managed to do that before, and she's not going to start on her birthday.

So she nods.

Vika leaps before she can say anything, getting rid of her shirt in a hurry, but Yuuri manages to stop her before she forcibly drags her down.

(She hadn't imagined this conversation with herself being half naked, but she supposes it's good enough, if that's what it needs to keep Vika listening).

So she talks. And talks. And talks some more.

She hadn't noticed how much information there actually was to acknowledge, and how much she took in while doing her readings. It's a lot, but Vika seems to be following her fine, so it must be okay.

«You have to tap twice somewhere on me if you can't breathe. Wherever you can reach. Please don't die.» she concludes, after five minutes of careful instructions. Vika stays serious for a grand total of twenty-four seconds, then she grins like a wolf, her eyes going wide like she can _ever_ look innocent.

«Why are you under the impression I would _mind_ , Yuuri?» she asks, winking at her. Yuuri _could_ roll her eyes this time, but Vika squeezes her hand right after, reassuring, and Yuuri can't even be mad at her.

She squeezes back, instead, and she takes one last deep, calming breath before straddling her hips again.

«So, should I...?» she begins, and Viktoriya nods so hard Yuuri's worried about her snapping her neck even _before_ they start. She would laugh, if she didn't feel like throwing up.

So she shuffles higher, facing the headboard and using it as a support. She's balancing all her weight on her knees, currently at the sides of Vika's head, and she is _extremely_ aware of how easily she could crush her if she let go.

Yuuri is so focused on _not actually sitting_ that she all but startles when Viktoriya brings her hands on her hips, steadying her further. She can feel, more than hear, Vika saying something, pressed up right against her.

It's a weird feeling, not being able to touch her or see her, and the wall isn't _interesting_ anyway, so she closes her eyes, trying to block the anxiety out.

That's also when Vika starts clearly getting into it, and the sensation makes her jerk violently, surprised, her heart beating faster in her ears.

It's different, like this. Viktoriya is all over her, and she obviously can't swallow all that well, because Yuuri's thighs feel slick and _everything_ feels quite _more_ than usual.

Vika is quiet, too, for once in her life. Yuuri isn't, but that's not the point.

She doesn't even know what she's saying, honestly. Nor if she's _talking_ at all.

She can hear herself panting, and there's a high-pitched whining sometimes that can't be coming from her, so it's probably Makkachin out their door, and oh, her hands hurt where they are gripping the headboard. She can feel her whole body pushing to go down, warmth spreading in her stomach and her back coiling so tight it almost hurts, because Vika's mouth is hot and inviting and definitely something she needs right now.

(She rocks her hips only once, a crack in her own self-control that makes her whimper and makes Viktoriya muffle something against her inner thigh).

It doesn't take her long to get almost unbearably close, enough for Vika to notice. She tightens her grip on Yuuri's hip for a second to warn her, and then she slides her hand higher, fumbling a bit to rip down her bra, tickling her ribs in the meanwhile.

Yuuri laughs, at that, a small chuckle broken by a likewise small cry when Viktoriya scrapes just _right_ over her nipple and against the side of her breast.

She does it so hard Yuuri's sure her nails will leave marks, and the pain is _delightful_ , lighting her up from the inside.

Yuuri shakes so badly that Vika needs to keep her upright with little to no accommodation coming from Yuuri herself, and she just _keeps going_ , helping her though it until Yuuri's not even sure she still has legs at all, let go knowing how to control them.

In the end, they make it work, somehow, and they end up curled up one in front of the other under the blankets, staring at each other without saying a word.

Surprisingly enough, it's Yuuri who breaks the silence first.

She clears her voice, flinching at the beginning of a sore throat she can feel creeping on her, and «Happy birthday, Vika.» she says, the most serious tone she can manage while focusing on forming the words right.

It makes her laugh, and only then does Yuuri notice how Vika's lips are still angry red from the pressure, and shiny with wetness she didn't bother to dry. When she kisses her, Yuuri can taste herself on her tongue.

(Maybe it shouldn't be as enthralling as it is, but today's a day of discoveries).

Viktoriya is still smiling when she moves away, sitting up to caress her hair. She leaves one last kiss near her ear, full of love and affection and so, so tender it makes Yuuri's heart clench, nuzzling her neck.

«The best birthday in a long time indeed, Yura. Thank you.» she whispers. It's so soft Yuuri almost can't hear it, mingled with background noises, even if that might also be because she's so tired and the bed is so warm. She's already drifting off to sleep again.

She gets briefly startled by Makkachin jumping on her legs, Vika can tell, but by the time she gets under the covers she's out like a light.

(Viktoriya shakes her head just a bit, a smile so big on her face it almost hurts, and settles for being the big spoon, for this once).

**Author's Note:**

> So the Russian was mostly pet names, but:  
> ми́лая - means something along the lines of "darling"  
> золоце mоё - means "my gold" and is apparently more common in Russian than what I thought so. Good to know.  
> Блядь - means "fuck"
> 
> Also, Phi wouldn't be short for Phichit but for Phitsamai, that means "adorable woman" in Thai and seemed the most fitting name ever for f!Phichit tbh.  
> And the title comes from the beautiful song by The Civil Wars that you can listen here (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-RtrpwIME0) if you want. I started listening to it without realising it was slightly ironical, but once I did the title was just undeniably perfect.


End file.
